


The Bird and the Bull

by deathjockey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Betrayal, Cadash before the Conclave, Carta, Dom/sub, Eventual heavy smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Little bit of smut to begin with, Slow Burn, Then you have to wait, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathjockey/pseuds/deathjockey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every crisis is an opportunity. And if it’s someone else’s crisis, that’s even better.</p><p>Birdie Cadash has been working for years in the lower rungs of the Carta.  Grunt work - escorting caravans, roughing up dusters who haven't paid their protection rackets, stealing from the occasional jumped up noble. But the Conclave presents itself as an opportunity for the Carta to get in on the ground floor of something big - and Birdie is chosen as their woman on the inside.</p><p>But neither the Carta nor Birdie realise how big this will truly be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crisis Talks

“Do you ever think you’d want to visit Orzammar?” Birdie propped herself up against pillows behind her, the bed creaking as she rearranged herself. Most of her chestnut hair had fallen from her ponytail, curling around her face haphazardly. She attempted to blow her fringe out of her eyes a few times unsuccessfully, before giving up and tying up her hair again. “I think I’d like to go. Just to see it once.”

“Birdie, if you went to Orzammar, they’d spit on you, slap a casteless tattoo on that pretty little face of yours, and then promptly kick you out if you didn’t have anything worthwhile to sell them.” Oskar sat on the edge of the bed, packing his pipe with tobacco. “Bunch of self-important jackasses arguing about whose ancestors were the most important.” He lit the bowl and took a deep breath, puffing out a ring of smoke. He watched the circle rise and dissipate in the cool morning air. “Like the rest of the world gives a shit.”

Birdie frowned, her brow furrowing over pale grey eyes. She pulled up the blankets around her, suddenly cold now that the warm afterglow of sex was fading. Oskar wasn’t much for post-coital spooning. “But don’t you want to know where we come from? What _real_ dwarven culture is like?”

“Bird, we’re from the Carta. We’ve as much relation to Orzammar as a Bronto does to a nug.” He puffed on his pipe again. “We’re the Bronto in this scenario.”

Birdie watched him as he rose from the bed, running an eye appreciatively down his naked form. Oskar could be an asshole, but by the stone he was gorgeous. His dark brown skin shone with sweat from their previous tumble, and his braided hair hung long down his back. She loved to play with his hair, fingering each individual braid while she lay on his chest.

He continued talking with his back turned to her. “And real Dwarven culture will be irrelevant soon. They sit in their sad little stone mansions, _stagnating,_ while the rest of the world moves on.” He bent over to pick up his shirt and she received a much appreciated eyeful of his muscular ass. Oskar turned around and began doing up the buttons, pausing when he saw Birdie staring at him. He smiled that irresistible half-smile at her. “Like what you see?”

She bit her lip and grinned at him. “Well, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed…”

“In that case, my little bird…” Oskar threw his shirt off again and clambered back onto the bed on all fours, pipe still clamped between his teeth. Birdie giggled and took it from his mouth, placing it on the bedside table. She kissed him, his stubble scratching against the soft skin of her cheeks and chin, its raspy feel comforting and familiar. He broke from their embrace and buried his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh Birdie, you smell fucking amazing, you know that?”

She smiled as she stared up at the dilapidated ceiling, feeling Oskar trail kisses down her neck, onto her collarbone. “And you taste amazing…” His tongue snaked its way down her sternum, making its way to one of her nipples. She gasped as he took it in his mouth, closing his lips and applying _just_ the right amount of pressure. “And you _feel_ amazing…” Oskar slipped a finger inside of her and she exhaled with pleasure, eyes closed, curling her toes as he gently stroked the walls of her cunt.

“ _Oskar…”_ She breathed, clutching at his shoulder blades.

“Yes, my little bird?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Fuck me.”

There was that of his smile again. “I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Birdie and Oskar had been holed up in that crappy little apartment for the past three days now, and Birdie was going crazy from boredom. She had hoped that once they’d reached Denerim they’d actually be able to stay somewhere nice, but Oskar had insisted that until they met with their contact they had to be frugal. So instead of one of the fancy rooms up top of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, they were staying in a complex out the back of the Pearl. Birdie was not fond of the location. She’d been propositioned four times now walking to and from the Market. The next idiot to ask “How much?” was going to get his femoral artery slashed.

“Oskar, how much longer till this guy arrives? I’m sick of this place. For the capital of Ferelden, it is boring as _shit.”_ Birdie pouted, aware she was acting like a spoiled child, but she was past the point of caring. She and Oskar never stayed in one place for long and she had gotten used to their transient lifestyle. Spending an extended period of time in one place made her nervous. They were easier to track down that way.

“Oh, quit your whining, Bird. Here, take a couple silvers and go buy yourself something pretty.” Oskar fumbled with his coin purse and deposited a few coins into Birdie’s hand.

“You do know how to placate me, Oskar.” Birdie joked, flipping up a coin with her thumb and snatching it out of the air. “You don’t want to come with?”

“Nah, got a few letters to write.” He gestured at the desk in the corner of their room, which was strewn with parchment and ink pots. “Actually if you could hire me a raven, that would be much appreciated.” Oskar tossed her a few more silver coins.

“One raven, gotcha.” Birdie nodded, throwing her rucksack on her back. “If I’m not back by sundown, it’s just because I’ve run off with a man who can actually offer me some excitement.”

Oskar had already sat down at the writing desk. “Duly noted. Try to get me the raven before you leave me for another man, if you can.”

“No promises!” Birdie yelled out to him as she left the apartment. She debated cutting through the back of the Pearl, but Birdie really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with drunken perverts today. She circled the long way around the brothel instead, where the streets were especially filthy. _What a shithole._ _Say what you want about Kirkwall, but it was never this disgusting_.

The market had already been bustling and trading for a few hours by the time Birdie got there, and was now in full swing. Birdie liked markets. The ever-present hubbub of vendors bartering with customers, each party trying to out-fleece the other. The endless throngs of people, making it easy for Birdie to slip in and out of places undetected. And the _things_. Birdie was definitely a magpie of sorts. She loved buying shiny things. Well, sometimes she bought them. Other times she merely… _liberated_ them from their owners.

She wandered up a particularly well-dressed stall, the owner outfitted in what was probably latest Orlesian fashion. Birdie didn’t know. She’d been wearing the same comfortable leathers for the past five years. A guy in Kirkwall gave her a discount because she bought her pants in bulk.

“Can I _help_ you?” The shopkeep inquired with a note of disdain in her voice.

Birdie stared at her. “Uh, yeah. How much for this?” She picked up a decorative dagger, inlaid with emeralds in the hilt, the copper-coloured blade curved in the shape of the snake. Not particularly helpful for actually stabbing things, Birdie thought.

“ _That_ is an ornamental dagger imported from Antiva. Crafted by the famed weaponsmith Enrico Mariano himself.” The woman sniffed at Birdie. “It is five sovereigns. _Please_ be careful with it.”

“Woah, yeah, no, I’ll keep looking thanks.” Birdie stuck out her tongue when the woman turned her back. Checking to see that no-one was watching, Birdie swiped the dagger and quickly placed it in a basket of the neighbouring stall. No point stealing it, too recognisable. But she could at least cause the snotty bitch a bit of grief.

Birdie whistled as she walked away, keeping an eye out for a post office of sorts. It was impossible to find anything in this place, Birdie thought. City-planner must have been a drunk. Birdie found herself wandering the backstreets of the market, passing by some of the more _interesting_ establishments. _Wonders of Thedas sounds like a brothel. Better name than the Pearl, though. How does a pearl relate to vaginas anyway? Unless you’re talking about clams…_

Birdie was quite lost in thought, so much so that she almost missed the storefront advertising postal services. She pushed open the splintering wooden door and found herself immediately sneezing as she entered the tiny store. It was packed wall-to-wall with dusty manuscripts and books that looked like they’d fall apart if you so much as touched them. The counter at the end of the room was unattended, so Birdie rang the bell that sat there. The sound of metal on metal reverberated in the otherwise silent room. A door behind the counter creaked open and a man who appeared to be about a hundred years old, wearing a faded cloak that looked as old as he was, hobbled toward the counter.

The decrepit man peered over at her, narrowing his eyes. “Ah, a child of the stone. Atrast vala. What can I do for you?”

“Ah yeah, atrast vala and all that…” Birdie’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words. She was never really taught any of the Dwavern tongue, the few words she knew picked up from others during her travels. “Your sign said postal services? I was wondering if you had any ravens I could hire?”

“Ravens? Oh yes, let me fetch you one from out back.” The man turned around and shuffled back through the door he came, moving with the speed of a bogfisher. Birdie sighed and drummed her fingers on the countertop. She hoped to die long before she ever became like this.

After what seemed like an eternity the man returned with a sickly looking raven in a rusted cage. “Is that the… only raven you’ve got?” Birdie asked, eyeing the bird skeptically.

“Unfortunately, yes.” The old man wheezed. “Quite the demand for messenger birds at the moment. Poor old Edmund here has been busy indeed. But don’t you worry, he’ll get the job done.”

Birdie sighed. “Fine. How much?”

“Five silver for that one.”

“Five silver? For him?” Birdie asked incredulously. “He looks like he might die as soon as I let him out of the cage! He can’t be worth any more than three, surely.”

“Demand is high at the moment. Can’t lower the price any more.”

Birdie shook her head. She couldn’t be arsed arguing with this ancient shopkeeper for half an hour over the price of a stupid bird. It was Oskar’s money anyway.

“Fine. Give me the dumb bird.” She dropped five silver on the counter and picked up the raven’s cage. “Come on, Edmund. Let’s get you back to Oskar.” The bird squawked lamely. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Birdie arrived back at the apartment tired and grumpy. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed with Oskar, and talk about what they were going to do when they made it big, like they always did.

Unfortunately there was another dwarf in the room with Oskar when she entered. “I got your Raven, Oskar.” Birdie said, eyeing the stranger. “Cost me a ridiculous amount too.” She set the bird down on the desk.

“Birgid.” Oskar never called her by her actual name. There was obviously something wrong. “Let me introduce you to Beregrand. He has a new assignment for us. Well, a new assignment for you.”

“A pleasure, Birgid.” Beregrand extended a hand. His voice was smooth and placid, and Birdie could tell right away that he was one of the higher-ups of the Carta. What was he doing here? They never send bigwigs just to hand out simple assignments. Birdie glanced at Oskar and saw he was shaking. His eyes widened and he inclined his head at her slightly, urging her to go along with it.

“It’s… Birdie, actually.” She accepted his handshake. “No-one calls me Birgid, really, except my mum.”

Beregrand laughed, a hollow sound that ended abruptly. “Alright, Birdie. I’m here to deliver your new assignment. It’s pretty simple actually, and will net you a rather nice amount.”

Birdie nodded her head slowly, still stealing glances at Oskar, who looked like he was about to faint. “What’s the job?”

“Do you know much about the disagreement between Templars and Mages, Birdie?” Beregrand asked, looking around the room for a place to sit, and finding none, leaning against the wall behind him.

“A little. The Mages are all mad that the Templars keep locking them in the circles and making them Tranquil, and the Templars think all the Mages are once step away from unleashing a torrent of blood magic.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.” Beregrand nodded. “So it turns out the Divine has called for a Conclave, a peace conference if you will, to stop the Templars and Mages from killing each other. We need eyes in that Conclave. Whichever way these talks go, we need to leverage it so that the Templars are convinced they need more lyrium.”

Birdie’s brow furrowed. “But why me?”

“Well the Chantry won’t exactly just _let_ the Carta waltz into the Conclave. We need someone who doesn’t look like they’re from the Carta. Someone who they can be convinced is merely a Dwavern ambassador concerned for the welfare of Thedas.”

“But won’t they figure us out when they, you know, _talk_ to the nobles in Orzammar?”

“Oh please, they Chantry hasn’t consulted Orzammar on political matters for decades. And Harrowmont has become so reclusive he won’t bother sending anyone even if he does hear about the Conclave. So you my dear, would be in the perfect position to claim ambassadorial authority of the Dwarves.”

“Can I have a think about it?” Birdie asked.

“Sure. Talk to _Oskar_ about it.” Beregrand emphasised his name strangely. “But I expected to hear back from you in the next few days. You know where to send the raven.” Beregrand nodded to the both of them and left the apartment.

Birdie just looked at Oskar for a while. He was still shaking and looked like he was about to puke. “What was _that_ about, Oskar?” Birdie asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Oskar’s head sunk into his hands.

“I fucked up, Birdie. I really fucked up this time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“How could you be so fucking _stupid_ , Oskar?”

Birdie paced the room in short, haphazard circles. The room seemed even smaller than usual and she suddenly felt claustrophobic, her heart thudding against her chest with almost painful force. Tiny dust clouds formed as her feet trod heavily over the mildewed rug on the floor. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she struggled to contain a torrent of profanities.

Oskar appeared stricken, unable to answer. He stood paralyzed in front of her, watching her course around the room. Birdie paused to stare at him. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“I know, Bird, I know. Believe me, I never meant for this to happen.” Oskar cradled his head in his soft brown hands and collapsed onto the bed. It creaked under his weight, the rusty bedsprings providing little resistance. Birdie thought she could glimpse tears between his fingers and her resolve to be furious weakened a little.

“You didn’t think it was a possibility when you _stole_ from the Carta?” Birdie could hear her voice shake. She was perilously close to tears herself. Oskar glanced up and gave her a pained look. “I thought if I made us a bit of money, I could get us away from all this.” He gestured around the dingy little apartment. The ceiling lantern swung gently in the breeze coming in from a poorly patched hole in the wall, occasionally dripping rancid tallow on the floor. A rat squeaked from behind the walls.

“But why did you have to steal _lyrium_ of all things?” She shook her head, incredulous that he even _considered_ doing it. “You know they watch that shit like a hawk. Fuck, even pinching their gold would have been a less suicidal endeavour.” Birdie resumed pacing.

“It wasn’t stealing. Not really.” Oskar bit the side of his cheek, and averted his eyes from hers. “We just skimmed a little bit of the top of each shipment, like a delivery fee or something.” He stared at his hands.

“I think the fucking _delivery fee_ was the delivery fee, you asshole.” Birdie hissed at him. He winced.

“You know they pay us fuck all for what we do. Especially compared to the amount they’re getting. They owe us, Birdie.” Oskar stood up and placed a hand on her cheek. She slapped it away and stared daggers at him.

“Do not even think about touching me right now. I am _this_ close to walking out that door and leaving you to deal with your own fucking mess.” Birdie was tense, coiled like a snake. It was taking every ounce of self-restraint not to punch him in the face.

Oskar swallowed heavily. He raised a hand to stroke her arm, but stopped himself. Her glare was dark.

“That’s the other thing, Bird. What Beregrand was talking about.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. The guilt was plain on his face.

“The Conclave thing? I don’t understand why they want me to do it. Why don’t they get one of the Carta members who is actually experienced with this diplomacy stuff?” Birdie questioned.

“Because you’re involved with me. They want to punish me, and they’re using you.” Oskar looked at her. He made no effort to hide his tears this time. “If you don’t manage to pull off the deal at the Conclave; or if you refuse to do it, they’re going to…” Oskar paused and swallowed hard. “They’re going to put you to work.”

“I already work for them, Oskar.” Birdie responded, her voice icy.

“I mean they’ll make you work like most of the other girls in the Carta do. Especially seeing as you don’t have a brand. Beregrand says you’ll go for more.” Oskar flinched as he said it.

“Go for more-” Birdie slapped him, her palm stinging as it made contact with his cheek. She shook with rage, her breath shallow in her chest, making her feel dizzy. “How _dare_ you. How dare you think you can sell me to save your pathetic ass.” She bore down on him, her face a finger’s breadth from his as she spat the words at him. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to whore myself for you.”

“Birdie, you don’t have a choice.” Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks now. He look wilted, defeated, all his previous swagger having left him. “They’ll kill you if you don’t. You know it as well as I do, the Carta is for life. You can’t disobey them.”

“If you took your own fucking advice we wouldn’t BE in this mess!” Birdie screamed and pulled at her hair. Her breathing became even more rapid and her stomach was churning. She was afraid she might puke. “How could you do this to me, Oskar?” Her voice was small now. She was genuinely frightened. Oskar hesitated for a second, then pulled her into his arms. The horrible lump in Birdie’s throat gave way to sobs. Oskar stroked her hair, his own tears dripping onto the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Birdie.” He pressed his cheek against her head. “I am so fucking sorry.”

They stayed in a silent embrace for a few minutes, Birdie’s face buried in Oskar’s chest, his arms encircling her. She could feel his heart beat, hard and erratic. His smell and warmth was comforting, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine this wasn’t happening.

Birdie broke away first, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. Oskar looked down at her sadly.

“What about you, then?” Birdie asked, sniffling. “They must be doing something pretty awful to you too.”

Oskar faltered. “I…I don’t know, Bird. The job they gave me is so simple… I think they’re messing with my head. There’s no way I’m getting off this easily.”

Birdie furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

“It’s an excavation job with a group of a few others. Simple lyrium mining and delivery operation. But something about the way Beregrand was talking about it… He and a few of the Carta heads were way too excited about it for it to be a run of the mill mining job.”

“Why would they trust you around lyrium?” Birdie expression changed from puzzled to concern. “This has to be is a set-up, Oskar. Something’s gonna go wrong on that job.”

Oskar pursed his lips. “I thought so too. But what choice do I have?”

Birdie hugged him again, wrapping her arms around his back, squeezing him a little too tight. “I’m still mad, Oskar.”

“I know.” He stroked her hair in a slow, methodical rhythm.

“You have to make this up to me.”

“I know.”

“But I’m gonna help you. I have to.” Birdie looked up at him, her eyes red from crying.

Oskar tensed around her. “You know I fucking care about you, right Bird? If anything happens to you because of this…” He trailed off and squeezed her tighter.

“It’s not going to.” Birdie spoke into his chest, her voice muffled. “I won’t let it. We’ll get through this, Oskar. Just like we always do. I’m going to go to this Conclave and broker the lyrium deal. Then the Carta will be off our backs and we can finally get out of here.” Birdie thought she almost sounded like she believed it.

Oskar smiled weakly. “You’re right, Bird. We can do this.”

Birdie pulled away from him again and exhaled, sliding her arms down around him to lace her fingers in his. The seething pit of snakes in her stomach had receded somewhat, leaving just a lurking sense of apprehension. Oskar untangled a hand from hers and ran a finger and thumb along her chin, pulling her mouth into a kiss. His lips were soft, pressing gently against hers. Birdie was always surprised at the smoothness of his skin.

Birdie broke from their kiss and wet her lips. “So what happens now?”

“I guess we have to tell Beregrand we agreed to it.” Oskar sighed deeply and looked over at the languishing raven on the desk. It croaked, barely making a sound. Feathers shed from the moulting bird carpeted the bottom of its cage.

“Here’s hoping old Edmund dies before delivering the message.” Birdie offered. Oskar snorted slightly.

Birdie clambered up onto the bed and crossed her legs while Oskar sat himself at the desk. His quill lay across a dirty scrap of paper, and the old inkpot hadn’t been used in an age, the liquid within having turned the consistency of coagulated blood. Oskar dipped the quill in the pot, the ink clinging to the feather in thick clumps.

Oskar’s handwriting was heavy and globular as he scratched words into the paper. It was obvious he was someone who learnt to write later in life. He paused after writing the initial pleasantries, struggling with what to say. “What do I write here, Bird?”

Birdie reclined across the bed, pressing her toes into the rough sheets. “Keep it short. We’re doing it. That’s all he needs to know.” She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the pillows. Her head spun slightly and her eyes stung from crying. She could hear the scratching of the quill and Oskar’s heavy breathing, but she did her best to block out the sound and retreat into her own head, not quite ready to believe this was happening. What was going to happen to them?

Birdie slipped in and out of consciousness as she dozed, exhausted from screaming and crying. She barely noticed as Oskar slid onto the bed beside her, gently placing an arm across her waist.

“Bird…” He whispered gently, lifting her hair to breathe softly in her ear.

“Mmmm?” She murmured, pushing his hand away and turning her back to him. He slid his hand back around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

He continued whispering softly to her, purring comforting words into her ear. “Sleep, Bird. I’ll sort this.”

 

 

 


End file.
